On knowing when to dig a hole

I’m pretty good at digging holes, both literally and figuratively. I know how to sling a shovel to move some earth around, but I don’t know when to shut my mouth in a delicate situation. That’s why I sometimes miss the isolation that sometimes accompanies physical labor. But I’m 40 now, getting too old for continual heavy lifting, and more realistically have been confined to a desk in a windowless dungeon for too long. 

My bones have begun to creak and snap with movement. They’ve also gained magic powers over the years. My left knee can predict the weather. The elbow on my right side can discern the outcome of elections. I have a wonderful skeleton. 

Back in my days of regular shovel swinging, I helped install an irrigation system at a luxury home in a neighborhood I could never hope to afford to live, especially not with an honest job like scooping dirt from the ground. After all the pipes and wires were properly situated, the mundane task of covering the trenches began. To our dismay there was not enough dirt to go around. 

This is when I began to understand the lore behind digging with the sign of the moon. Our trenches had obviously been dug on a new moon. 

The owner of this fine home, of course, was not happy to see trench lines across their front lawn. The only thing that could be done was bring in more dirt. Which had to be moved across the property via wheelbarrow and shoveled out along the rows and packed down level to the surface. It was a terrible time that made a young me dream of a desk job, of being slouched over a computer in a windowless dungeon all day. Life is a funny thing. 

The job ran over budget and beyond schedule, no surprise. Which made everyone irate, especially the owner of the small landscaping firm, who had to deal with the angry client and moody workers ready to move on from a nightmare of a job. 

There is no scientific evidence to back up the claim that the phase of the moon has an impact on the amount of dirt that comes out of a hole. I can’t honestly say I’ve ever paid any attention to the almanac before embarking on a dig, but I’ve been on both sides of the issue, having excavated pits that can seemingly never be refilled and dug holes that produced an overabundance of soil. It’s just further proof that God has a sense of humor. 

Digging in the dirt has been on my mind because a friend recently had his mailbox destroyed by a car deviating off course due to a stray dog. Guess who he asked to help install the new one? I could say I’ll check with the moon before stabbing at the ground with a shovel, but it’s not going to matter. 

We’ll be setting that sucker in a whole lot of concrete.